 | The Poetical Works of Oliver Wendell Holmes |  |
360
MY EXCUSE FOR NOT WRITING
JUNE 9, 1876
You ask me to write you some verses! Not I
While the Crab and the Lion are lords of the sky—
Nay, wait till the Virgin gives place to the Scales
And the first leaves of autumn are swept by the gales.
While the Crab and the Lion are lords of the sky—
Nay, wait till the Virgin gives place to the Scales
And the first leaves of autumn are swept by the gales.
If you'll give me a spade in the earth I will delve
If you'll lend me a hatchet I'll clutch at its helve
If you'll find me a knife there are branches to prune
But a pen makes me shudder—a goose-quill in June!
If you'll lend me a hatchet I'll clutch at its helve
If you'll find me a knife there are branches to prune
But a pen makes me shudder—a goose-quill in June!
I have laid all my papers and books on the shelf
Why scribble while nature is writing herself
Each grass-blade a letter that sparkles with dew
And flowers for her capitals, gold red and blue?
Why scribble while nature is writing herself
Each grass-blade a letter that sparkles with dew
And flowers for her capitals, gold red and blue?
I can read all day long from those pages of green
Whose characters lay through the winter unseen
Till out at the summons of sunshine they came
Like the words of a love-letter held to the flame
Whose characters lay through the winter unseen
Till out at the summons of sunshine they came
Like the words of a love-letter held to the flame
But to write in dead phrases! the roses have blown
Shall I sprinkle their damask with Eau de Cologne?
Shall I mock the sweet season of blossoming bowers
With a milliner's nosegay of calico flowers?
Shall I sprinkle their damask with Eau de Cologne?
Shall I mock the sweet season of blossoming bowers
With a milliner's nosegay of calico flowers?
While the spice of the sassafras clings to my lips
While the axe I have chopped with smells sweet of the chips
While the turtles lie basking on fence rails and logs
While the meadows resound with the chorus of frogs
While the axe I have chopped with smells sweet of the chips
While the turtles lie basking on fence rails and logs
While the meadows resound with the chorus of frogs
While the lily-pad greenbacks their promise display
Of the silver and gold that the lilies will pay,
While heavy the nest of the oriole swings
While Nature's gay buffo, the bobolink sings
Of the silver and gold that the lilies will pay,
While heavy the nest of the oriole swings
While Nature's gay buffo, the bobolink sings
Excuse me, dear friend; in your quest after verse
You may have gone farther—you can't have fared worse.
I send you my blessing, 'tis all that I can—
In the lazy, limp month of the flowers and the fan.
You may have gone farther—you can't have fared worse.
I send you my blessing, 'tis all that I can—
In the lazy, limp month of the flowers and the fan.
| The Poetical Works of Oliver Wendell Holmes | |